The Chief's Wife, Jones M [ebook reader with android os .TXT] 📗

held you when you were a baby."

Is that supposed to be enough for me to remember you? Mwamba thought, but physically, he was smiling at the elder.

That was undoubtedly the ninth time that some unknown person had asked him if he recalled them.

"I am your father's friend! We used to go hunting when we were young. I remember back when you were so little..."

"You don't remember me? I am your aunty from your father's brother's side!"

"Hey! I am the woman who helped your mother give birth to you."

That was another thing that Mwamba disliked about visitors; some expected him to remember them, and when he couldn't, they would indirectly make him feel bad for having no recollection of them.

And Mwamba had met a lot of people in his nineteen years. 

"Food's ready!" Mwamba's younger sister announced just as a couple of people began bringing out the earthen pots that had been used to cook the evening meal. Clay plates with food were soon being passed around, and when Mwamba's plate finally reached him, he sighed in relief.

At least there is something good coming out of this visit, Mwamba thought as he stared at his plate.

It was filled with a huge helping of ugali, boiled spinach and a few diced pieces of beef meat cooked in tomato soup. 

Mwamba moaned once the food reached his lips, and fortunately for him, he was able to enjoy the meal without distractions from the people around him.

A while after everyone had finished their meals, Mwamba found himself seated next to his father. They were with the rest of the people who had come to visit, all sitting around a large fire. The sun was already setting, painting the sky with strips of pink and purple as the cold evening air began to blow around the area.

The conversations had ceased, and the people acknowledged it was time to talk about the main issue in the village.

"As many of you know," the chief began, looking at everyone with a serious expression, "it has been months since the heavens opened to bless us with water. The dry spell has been quite long, and this has brought cause for worry. There is barely enough water left to cater us all for a month and the granaries are running short on supply."

Gasps filled the air before people began to chatter.

"That is why I have gathered all of you here. We need to discuss plans for the village if the drought is to continue."

"I suggest we should all start decreasing the amount of food and meals we take every day," someone stated once the chief had finished speaking.

"Don't be ridiculous!" another opposed. "How can you expect us all to survive with your plan? You might as well be sentencing us to starve!"

"I don't mean it like that," the person who had earlier spoken pointed out. 

"Okay, okay," the chief calmly stated with raised hands. "Stop this before you lose your heads. As I said, I wanted suggestions; I don't mean that everything everyone says will be immediately implemented."

"The matter involves the spirit world," a masculine voice spoke out, and everyone turned to face the person.

It took a couple of seconds for Mwamba to realize the voice had come from his side. He turned, and that was when he noticed the person sitting next to his father.

Mghanga was the name. The definition, according to the tribal language, referred to the man as either a witch or a healer; sometimes, like in the case, it was both. Mghanga was in his thirties with his brown skin starting to lose its youthfulness. He wasn't as muscular or as tall like the other men in the village. What he couldn't cater for in his physical appearance was done so with his brain, which explains how he had quickly succeeded the previous witch of the village.

"Mghanga?" the chief acknowledged the man as the witch stood up.

"Your Highness, if I may," Mghanga paused, awaiting the chief's approval. He nodded, and the witch turned to face the people.

"Everyone, I am shocked as you are about the prolonged lack of rain in our lands. I went to search for answers in the spirit world, and it had been revealed to me that our god and ancestors are displeased with our actions. We have forgotten to appease them, and so the drought is punishment."

It all made sense right then. Apart from the usual prayers, the village usually held ceremonies to appease their ancestors every four months. But with the way the drought was threatening everyone with the lack of food, people had been reluctant to do so.

"But we don't have enough food to sacrifice to them," a voice spoke out loud. Mghanga turned to the person.

"Trust me. If we appease the ancestors, they will end the drought in the area."

More voices started speaking up, asking the witch if he was crazy.

"What do we have to do?" the chief questioned as he stared at Mghanga, making everyone stop to listen to him.

"Well, every family in the village will have to offer a sacrifice. You can choose to give out your grains or your animals. We will burn them and pray for their reception into the spirit world."

"How are we sure that your plan will work?" a man questioned the witch. 

"Well, it's either we do that or we start rationing our food," the chief chose to answer for Mghanga.

There was a moment of silence as everyone considered the witch's words.  

"I'll do it," a voice spoke out in the group. Everyone turned to face the person who had spoken, and Mghanga realized it was one of the men who had dropped the distressing news about the drought a day ago.

Mumblings had started once again in the group, and a while later, everyone had agreed to the witch's suggestion. After that, everyone dispersed to their homes.

 

Chapter Four

 

 

True to the witch's words, no sooner had every family offered their sacrifices than the wet season commenced. It had started as a small gathering of clouds in the sky on one day. More clouds appeared as the hours passed, and it was dark by the time sunset had reached.

The rain had come with a thunderstorm that evening. The villagers were quick to prepare their food and to head into their huts. Mwamba could remember the sound of the numerous drops hitting the hut's thatched roof coupled with the sound of the wind blowing outside. It was music to his ears, and that had helped him fall into a deep slumber.

The storm had stopped when morning came, but the rains returned in the afternoon and continued for the following week. Every farmer in the village had gone to tend to the fields, planting crops to be stored in the granaries.

"Look at all that rain," Wanjala said in amazement as she stared out the open window of her hut. It was another afternoon, and it was raining heavily.

"I know," Mwamba replied with a smile. "I have missed it."

Wanjala grinned back at him before turning her attention back to the open window of the hut. As the raindrops pelted on her face, she remembered playing in the rain with Mwamba and other children when they were young. It had been fun, even though their parents had scolded them later on.

Mwamba looked at his friend with a smile, and by then, he started feeling an emotion he couldn't acknowledge. His heart was beating fast, and he found himself memorizing his friend's features in his mind. It was as if he was looking at her in a different way.

"Mwasindamana?" a child's voice greeted in the traditional language, asking how everyone was doing, as she entered the hut.

"Wakio!" Wanjala exclaimed, stretching her hand out to pull her wet sister farther into the hut. "What were you doing outside? Weren't you with Mother?"

"I was playing," Wakio replied just as a small gust of wind entered the hut, making her shiver.

Wakio was seven years old, and she looked like a younger version of her sister. The only thing different was that she had more of her father's features than Wanjala.

"Oh," Wanjala sighed as she led her sister to sit next to the fire . There was a pot above it, and it contained water furiously boiling with beans and maize. "Here. Come sit next to the fire."

Wakio obeyed her sister, sitting on the sisal carpet a few feet from the pot that was being used to make the afternoon meal. That was when she noticed they weren't alone.

"Mwamba?" Wakio exclaimed in surprise. Before the chief's son could reply, she started giggling.

"What's so funny?" he asked with a frown.

"Oh, nothing," she replied with a cheeky smile. "It's just that I didn't know that you two were alone in here."

Mwamba went to reply, but then he stopped himself, not knowing what to say. Meanwhile, Wanjala was a blushing mess.

"Wakio!" Wanjala chastised, and that was enough for Mwamba to smile.

"So, what were you guys doing? What were you talking about?"

"Nothing much," Wanjala replied. "We were just talking about the rain."

Her sister stared at her in boredom.

"That's so boring. Can't we play games here?"

"Wakio, I am cooking here," Wanjala told her sister.

"Okay. Then could you guys tell me a story?"

The elder sister scoffed, making Mwamba smile.

"Fine. There once lived a hare and a hyena—"

"I have heard that one before," Wakio cut her sister off, earning a scowl. "Let me guess: there was a race with the animals, and the hare won."

"No—"

"The hyena tried to eat the hare, but the hare tricked the hyena into either cooking himself or being eaten by a larger predator."

There was a moment of silence as Wanjala glared at her sister. The younger sibling just smiled with a shrug of her shoulders.

"What about a scary story?" Wanjala smirked. Her sister looked interested, and that sparked laughter out of Mwamba.

"Do you really want to be telling her one of those?" Mwamba questioned his friend. "Remember the last time you told a child a scary story? The parents complained that they couldn't get him to sleep that night!"

Wanjala ignored him, choosing instead to smirk.

She was definitely going to do it. With a sigh, Mwamba made himself comfortable on the floor. Meanwhile, Wakio was excited.

"Okay, I will tell you a scary story: Once upon a time, there lived a boy named Mcharo. He was around your age, and he was the only child in his family. Mcharo was a troublesome and selfish person, rarely ever thinking of others but himself."

"I already don't like him," Wakio commented, but that didn't stop her sister from continuing with the story.

"One day, when evening was approaching, Mcharo started thinking about the world at night. He had only seen his surroundings during the day, and he was curious to know how they looked like in the evening. He did not care about his parents' warning of venturing into the night. The village people had told him stories about evil spirits and demons, but he believed they were all lies to get him to behave. And so, without informing anyone, Mcharo left the hut while everyone was preparing to make their supper.

He was amazed by what he saw as he wandered farther away from home. He could see the setting sun and the stars as they appeared. At a point, Mcharo had stopped